


The High Seas

by lulugirl617



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: AU, Bottom!Lock, First Time, Historical, M/M, Masturbation, Pirate!lock, Pirates, Smut, captain!john, injury tw, top!John, violence tw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-19 00:02:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3588855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lulugirl617/pseuds/lulugirl617
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is a captured pirate on Captain John's ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Sherlock stood on the deck of his ship, the crew fanned out in a semicircle behind him. He still thought of it as his ship, even though the crew had mutinied an hour ago and taken command. Everything from cutlasses to one shot pistols were pointed at his back, and he knew it. The crew planned to hand him over to the royal navy in return for full pardons. The British government didn’t want much with a few idiot sailors, they would much rather take Captain Sherlock Holmes, notorious pirate, con artist and all around criminal.  
The Navy ship was approaching in the distance. Sherlock sighed inwardly. At least it’d be over with quickly. He had little regard for his own life, and he was at least 83% certain that they were going to kill him on sight. The sun beat down on his bare back. When the crew had taken over, they had stripped him of his captains coat and hat, among other articles of clothing. All he was left with was a pair of britches.  
The ship was nearly upon them now. It dropped anchor about fifty feet out, and Sherlock could see them lowering a row boat with four figures inside.  
“Too many to overpower,” he thought “though even if I won, I’d have no where to go.”  
The small boat was at their ladder. He could see musket heats pointed up at him, and feel shoves of rough hands at his back.  
“Send ‘im over,” one of the sailors from the water called, “’n nothing suspicious like. Our boys have canons ready and loaded if we give ‘em the word.”  
Sherlock approached the rail, looking back up at the crew who had betrayed him. Honestly, it hadn’t come as a shock. He wasn’t the most agreeable of captains, and it wouldn’t be hard for a strong crew to overpower him. He was actually surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, now that he thought about it. He climbed down the shaking rope ladder. As soon as his foot touched the hull, the sailors began rowing back to the main ship, and his former crew began preparing to sail.  
The four men on the ship were all dressed in uniform, but none were of real importance. A smart captain would never send important men to a meeting that could have gone horribly wrong. Sherlock watched the Navy ship grow closer and closer with an impending sense of doom. It wasn’t as if he was scared to die, the whole thing just seemed tedious and completely unwelcome.  
The sailors hoisted him onto the deck first, quickly tying his arms behind his back. A few drew knives, and Sherlock looked around, trying to deduce who his executioner would be. Not the first mate, he was obviously squeamish about such things. He hoped it would be one of the heavily muscled deck hands, at least the blow would be fast and strong.  
“Would you look at him?” one of the men in the crowd called, “He’s prettier than half the girls I’ve bedded. What do you say captain? Up for one more go before you die?”  
The crowd hooted and hollered, and Sherlock felt a hand slide up his ass. He turned and snapped his teeth at the offender, but without his arms, he wasn’t able to do much damage.  
“Ooh pretty and feisty,” another man called, “What do you say lads? I think we bugger him senseless before we have the decency to slit his throat,”  
Another roar went up from the crowd. Sherlock’s heart began beating faster. Death was manageable, but this was barbaric. He began to sweat as scenario after horrific scenario ran through his mind. If he was lucky, he’d pass out quickly. Unfortunately, Sherlock had never been faint of heart, and his heightened senses would make whatever was to come downright hellish.  
The crowd was closing in faster now. Sherlock felt hands all over his body, and he wasn’t able to turn away fast enough. His chest tightened, and the men laughed at the fear that was painfully obvious.  
“Men!” a voice barked from the upper deck, and the crew shied away like kicked puppies. “What in the hell are you doing? Get away from him. Is that any way to treat a prisoner of the Royal Navy?”  
The crowd around him cleared and Sherlock looked up to his savior. The sun was bright, but he could make out what was obviously the captain. He wasn’t a tall man, but he stood with authority, and the crew obeyed his every word. The man climbed down the steep staircase leading to the lower deck and crossed to face his prisoner.  
“I’m really sorry about all that,” he said, “my crew hasn’t docked in weeks and they get, well, you should know by now. I’m Captain John Watson. Come inside we’ll get you dressed.”  
Sherlock followed John into the hull, where an extra shirt was found. Sherlock’s arms were untied, and he began rubbing his sore shoulders.  
“Let me,” John crossed behind him and began pulling at Sherlock’s arms, “You haven’t really hurt anything, just a bit of a sprain on one of your ligaments. Theres not much I can do, just let it rest.”  
“I could have told you that much,” Sherlock snarked, twisting away from John’s touch, “And your men’s behavior was inexcusable. A few more minutes and I would have been on my knees.”  
“Yes well,” John couldn’t meet Sherlock’s eyes, “Nobody should have to have gone through that. I’m truly sorry. You can be sure they will be reprimanded.”  
“If they were my crew they’d be dead,” muttered Sherlock under his breath.  
“You don’t have a crew now, remember?” this time it was John’s turn to snap. “Your crew only betrayed you and sent you to certain death.”  
Sherlock looked down. John had hit a nerve.  
“Why aren’t you killing me, anyways?” Sherlock replied, trying to sound aloof but not succeeding.  
“I don’t believe in execution without fair trial,” John said, straightening himself, “And I’ve heard enough about you to know you don’t deserve death. You’ve never killed anyone, and calling you a pirate is a stretch. The only thing you’re really guilty of is embarrassing the monarchy.”  
Sherlock smirked. It was true that his exploits were usually at the expense of the crown. And he had made it a point to keep murderer off his list of crimes.  
“I’d usually keep you in the hold, but I’m afraid of what the crew might do,” John said, “You are dangerously good looking. Not that I- well I just meant it could cause trouble. We have a fairly decent cell, and I hold the only key. You should be safe there until we reach London.”  
John lead Sherlock to the cell. It was neat enough, and fairly devoid of rats. There was even a small hammock in the corner.  
“I’ll send a more reasonable crew member in with your dinner and some water,” John promised as he locked Sherlock in, “We shouldn’t be more than two weeks from shore if the weather holds and we don’t run into trouble.”  
Sherlock nodded. After John left Sherlock undressed and began inspecting his body for injuries. He had a few bruises and minor scraps from the crew’s rough treatment, but overall, his condition could have been much worse. He was alive, for one. And he had met a very attractive doctor who had simultaneously saved his life and called him handsome.


	2. Chapter Tw0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock begin to grow closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! Thing are just starting to get going. Next chapter theres going to be a bit more action.
> 
> If you leave reviews, I love you! If you make fanart, I will literally love you forever.
> 
> I"ll be posting whenever I update on my tumblr, johnlockfancreations, plus it has a bunch of other goodies about our boys if you want to check it out.

John closed the door to the cell room and leaned back against the rough wood.  
“Get ahold of yourself,” he though, “He’s a pirate, and would sooner slit your throat than blink.”   
But something was different about Sherlock Holmes. He wasn’t one for needless violence, yet when faced with death he was calm. Most men would have been blubbering like fools. Not Mr. Holmes. The only true fear John had saw was when his crew was closing in. Sherlock didn’t fear death. He feared losing control.  
Back on the lower deck John assessed his crew, looking for someone that could be trusted to watch over the pirate. Most of his crew were immoral, disloyal simpletons, but what could you expect? You didn’t join the Navy for your brains. John shook his head and turned to leave the deck. He couldn’t make any real decisions about their fate now, he was still seething. He was ready to maroon the lot, but that wasn’t the wisest choice.   
His captain’s cabin was neat and fairly small. A bed, a trunk, a set of drawers and a table and chair were all John really needed. The lock clicked as he closed himself in. John crossed to the trunk of books under his bed and hauled it out into the open. Books were one thing his crew really didn’t appreciate, but John loved them. Out at sea there weren’t many places to restock, so he kept his old favorites to read over and over. He pulled out the most ragged of the collection and settled down on his bed to read.  
His mind kept drifting to Sherlock. He was a truly exquisite man, that could be said objectively. His skin was exceptionally pale for spending his time under the sun, and the way those curls flopped over his eyes...John felt a spreading warmth in his groin. His stood and began pacing the room, hoping to let off steam. This was absurd. The man was a pirate, and he was a captain. They were as different as night and day.  
But maybe that was the appeal. Sherlock was unlike anyone he had ever met. The warmth turned into an insistent heat and John’s trousers began to feel uncomfortably tight. Almost unconsciously, his hand slipped down and started palming his growing erection. Sherlock was so deliciously different.   
Giving up all hope, John shucked his pants to the floor and flopped into his bed on his back. He pulled lazily as images formed in his mind. Sherlock, shirtless on the deck of his ship. Sherlock, naked, pleading for John to let him come. John’s hand moved faster. Sherlock moaning and writhing underneath him, letting out little whimpers as John fucked him into the mattress...  
“Fuck!” John gasped as he came, shooting cum all over his shirt. Luckily he missed the book, which was still lying on the bed, forgotten. He lay still on the bed, letting the after waves of his orgasm slowly fade. He hadn’t come so quickly in ages, it was almost embarrassing.  
Once he had regained control of his limbs, John stood and changed into a different shirt. He pulled his pants and boots on, put the book back in the trunk under the bed, and left his cabin as if nothing had happened.  
\--  
“I need some bread, meat and some of that hard cheese,” he ordered the ship’s cook, who gave him a funny look. John never ate in the afternoon. “And some water if you’ve got it, rum will do if you don’t.”  
“Maybe rum would be better,” John thought to himself, “Sherlock didn’t seem like the friendly type, and it would ease the mood.”  
“”ere you go captain,” the cook handed him a small tray, “’nd I got some o’ that fancy wine from last docking if you’d prefer.” John smiled and nodded.  
“Yes that would do just fine,” he waved the cook off and practically ran down to the cell room.  
\--  
“Well haven’t you been busy,” Sherlock smirked as John entered the room. He was still shirtless, a fact John did not fail to notice. His skin was beginning to turn pink, and he suspected the pirate had been sunburned from his time out on deck with no protection.  
“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you mean,” John said, flustered. He willed the blush rising from his collar to recede.  
“You’re wearing a different shirt, the other had a little stain by the sleeve,” Sherlock began, talking very quickly, “and you aren’t a man to waste perfectly clean clothing, so you must have dirtied it somehow. Pair that with the fact you’re looking much more relaxed since the last time I saw you and you’ve brought me a fine wine, fairly expensive I’d say by the smell, I’d say you had a wank.”  
“That was amazing,” John said, embarrassed but none the less impressed, “How on Earth-” His voice trailed off.  
“You’re not mad?” Sherlock looked up, all the guile gone from his eyes.  
“Well if you bloody well figured it out on your own the only person I should be mad at is myself for not hiding it properly.” John sat down with a grunt. The only thing that separated them now was a few iron bars. Sherlock ducked his head, trying to hide the smile that spread across his lips. “Is that what you did to your crew then?”  
“Oh it was years of being around me,” Sherlock said, “in case you can’t tell, I’m not the most likable of compatriots.”  
“You seem plenty likable to me,” the words were out before John could stop them.  
“Don’t,” Sherlocks voice was hard. “Don’t patronize me. I don’t need your protection or your pity.”  
“It wasn’t pity,” the hurt in Sherlock’s voice made his chest ache, “I just, I know what its like to feel alone.” Sherlock grunted, but no cutting reply came. Minutes past without anyone saying a word. Finally, Sherlock looked up from the floor.  
“I guess thats for me then,” he said, gesturing to the tray of food. “I haven’t eaten in at least a day and I’m feeling rather peckish.”  
“Of course, I forgot, I’m sorry,” John was snapped out of his thoughts. He unlocked the cell door and slid the tray in. “Theres some wine there if you fancy it, and some water if you don’t.”  
“If you don’t mind I’d rather keep my sense,” Sherlock replied, but he took the rest of the tray and began devouring the food.  
“Suit yourself,” John muttered, taking a swig from the bottle and turning so he could lean against the cell bars.   
“So I guess no one else wanted to protect the pirate?” Sherlock had finished his meal.  
“What?” John looked over his shoulder.  
“You said earlier that you were going to send someone down as my guard,” Sherlock elaborated, sounding a bit exasperated, “Yet I see no one but the captain, a man I’m sure has other more important duties than guarding a prisoner. But here you are.”  
“I didn’t trust anyone else,” John said after a moment on quiet contemplation. “Besides, I don’t hear you complaining about it.”  
“To be sure you’re a bit more interesting than most of the humans I’ve encountered,” Sherlock said. He yawned and stretched, and John had to turn back around. The man was so damn gorgeous. The way his muscles rippled when his stretched...”If you don’t mind I’m going to take a kip. It’s been a rather taxing day.”  
“Oh yes, of course,” John said, “I’ll just stay here then.”  
“Thank you John,” Sherlock said, sending a bolt of electricity through John’s body. His voice was unimaginably sexy to. Was there nothing about this man that didn’t turn him on?  
John sat facing the door. It only took a few minutes for Sherlock’s breathing to slow, and John chanced a glance back. He was sprawled in the hammock, limbs protruding from all angles. In sleep, his face lost its hardness. John couldn’t help but smile.  
“This was the man the government has spend years trying to find,” John thought to himself. He settled his back against one of the rooms wooden walls so he could watch Sherlock sleep. Soon, the wine began to take hold and John’s eyes began to droop. He fell asleep to the gentle rocking of the waves and the deep, even breath of the beautiful man sleeping across the room.


	3. Chapter Three

Sherlock woke in what seemed to be the early hours of the morning. There were no windows in the small room, but the thunk of heavy boots and the barking of orders had quieted. Then Sherlock’s eyes fell on John. He was asleep on the far side of the room, a half empty bottle of wine beside him. His head had fallen back against the wall, exposing a tanned, muscular throat.  
“You can’t think about him like that,” Sherlock told himself, “Caring isn’t an advantage. Stay detached.”  
But John was different. He was kind and interesting and he saved a abrasive pirate from his own crew. Sherlock blinked, stretched, and gave a sleepy smile. Maybe. Just maybe, if this all worked out, he could have a chance.   
A scraping sound outside his door snapped Sherlock out of his daydreams. There was one- no two- men outside, both of them large and determined to get through the door.  
“John,” Sherlock called in a frantic whisper. He could feel his heat beginning to race. “John wake up please. There’s someone here.”  
John jerked awake groggily.  
“’S the matter?” he stumbled to his feet, “Sherlock whats wrong?”   
“Theres two men outside the door,” Sherlock’s voice had a tell tale tremor.  
“Here,” John tossed Sherlock the key to his cell, “Stay locked in there. They won’t be able to get at you.”  
“What about you?” Sherlock caught the key deftly.  
“I’ll be just fine,” John’s mouth was set in a hard line. He drew his sword. Sherlock marveled. This man was ready to fight his crew to keep Sherlock, a known fugitive and criminal, safe.  
The door finally gave and Sherlock saw his would-be attackers. They were two of the biggest ship hands on the boat, armed with a pry bar, pistols and a cutlass. John tightened his grip on his sword and slowly stepped in front of the door to Sherlock’s cell.  
“This is your last chance,” his voice held an authority that made Sherlock shiver, “Put down your weapons, leave, and I’ll let you live.”  
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” The larger man with the pry bar smiled, “Except, I haven’t got what I came for yet. And I always get what I want.”  
He shot Sherlock a grin that made his stomach turn to lead. John shifted uneasily from foot to foot. He was outnumbered and outgunned. It would be easier just to leave and pretend he didn’t know what was happening. But he couldn’t leave Sherlock. Not here, not ever.  
The two men began closing the short distance between them and John. Sherlock had his back pressed against the far wall, physically repelled by the presence of his would-be attackers. John made the first move. He leapt forward, slashing the cutlass out of the way and carving a deep gash on the man’s arm. He yelled and dropped his weapon, but John had already moved on. He spun on his heel and sliced and the man with the pry bar, opening his torso with one blow, and cutting his throat with the next. Sherlock’s heart dropped. The first man had drawn his pistol, and John wouldn’t be able to lift his sword to defend himself in time.   
“John!” The words came out like a strangled gasp, but it was too late. The man had a pistol pointed at John’s temple, and his arm, bleeding profusely, wrapped around John’s throat.  
“You seem far too fond of our dear old captain here,” the man snarled, tightening his grip on John’s neck. “Now, I might let you both live, but only on my terms.”  
“Whatever you want,” Sherlock’s voice was cracked and broken, his head bowed in defeat.  
“Sherlock, no,” John choked, earning him a jab in the ribs with the gun.  
“Shut your mouth,” he growled, then looked to Sherlock. “Let yourself out, I see the key in your hand so don’t bother lying. Come over here and relieve the good captain of his weapons, then put him in the cell.”  
Sherlock moved as if on a string. He fumbled with the iron lock, and slowly approached the two men. John let him take the sword from his grasp, giving Sherlock’s fingers a quick squeeze as the weapon was passed over. Sherlock gulped, but his mouth was dry. There was no way this man was going to let either one of them live. He had to act, or watch John die.  
His hand clenched as he swung the sword, connecting with the man’s arm holding the gun. The man screamed, and pulled the trigger. Sherlock let out a cry as he cut the man’s throat. It didn’t matter now. John was slumping to the floor blood oozing out of a wound on his left shoulder. Sherlock could here running footsteps outside. It didn’t matter what happened to him. He had to save John.  
“What in the bloody hell happened?” the first mate yelled.  
“John, it was all John,” Sherlock was stammering, his hands fluttering over the wound in the captain’s shoulder. “He fought them off to protect me. He’s going to die because of me.”  
“Thats the biggest load of horse shit-” he bellowed.  
“No,” John’s voice was weak, dangerously weak “Sherlock, he saved me. Trust him.”  
“Did you hear that?” Sherlock’s voice was stronger now. His brain had processed what was happening, and he knew what he had to do, “Trust me. Now, get the ship’s doctor or watch your captain die.”  
“He is the ship’s doctor,” the first mate’s face drained. “There’s no way we can save him. He’s going to die and I can’t-”  
“Shut up and listen,” Sherlock stood and grabbed the man by the shoulders, “I can help him, but you have to help me. Help me carry him to his cabin, and I’ll need clean water, bandages, threat, needle and pliers if you have them. He’s losing blood fast. We have to hurry.”  
They carried John’s unconscious between them to the captain’s cabin and laid him on the table. Sherlock began cutting away John’s shirt with his knife as the first mate went to find the supplies.  
“Please don’t die,” Sherlock whispered over and over, as he cleaned the blood off the man who saved his life.   
“Remove the bullet, clean the wound, stitch the hole, bandage the area,” he thought to himself. The bullet hadn’t gone deep, but it was deep enough to make Sherlock sick with worry.   
It didn’t take long before he had done all he could do. Sherlock sat, his fingers at the pulse point in John’s wrist. It was weak, but it was still there. The bleeding had slowed, but the doctor was still unconscious. Sherlock sat next to the man who saved his life, the man who called him beautiful, watching him slowly slip away.   
The first mate kept everyone away from the captain’s cabin, John wasn’t a vital part of the ship’s crew as it was. Sherlock sat by his side until somewhere around mid morning, when he fell asleep slumped over John’s legs, tears drying on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me. I should have the next chapter up by tomorrow, maybe tonight if I can get around to it.


	4. Chapter Four

John felt as if he had been run over. Waves of pain were coursing through his body, all of them originating from his shoulder, which felt like it was on fire. What had happened? He remembered the fight, Sherlock coming out of the jail cell...  
“Sherlock,” John tried to yell, but it came out as a half formed mumble. If something had happened to him, if they had laid a finger on him, John would kill them without a second thought.  
“John?” The voice seemed to be coming from a long ways away, “John don’t move, you were shot. I did the best I could, but to be quite frank I haven’t had to deal with many bullet wounds.”  
“Sherlock,” John sounded a bit stronger now, and his eyes began to flutter open. He could see a hazy face, inches from his own. “Sherlock are you alright? Did they- I mean they didn’t-”  
“I’m fine John, you’re the one who needs to be worried over,” Sherlock said, gesturing to John’s shoulder, “It’s not deep, but its going to take a while to heal. Puncture wounds always do.”  
“Thank you,” John whispered. He reached up with his good arm and touched Sherlock’s cheek, “You saved me. You saved us both, and you were willing to- what in the hell were you thinking?”  
Sherlock gave a small laugh and looked down, unable to meet John’s eyes. He couldn’t tell the captain how he really felt. This perfect, beautiful man. Too perfect for Sherlock.  
“They were going to hurt you,” the pirate responded, still not meeting John’s eyes, “I couldn’t watch that happen. I couldn’t let them, especially when I knew I could stop it.”  
John pulled Sherlock down and kissed him. Both were clumsy, one from pain and one from inexperience, but it felt like the kiss of life. John felt Sherlock tighten, his lips unmoving. Gently, Sherlock removed John’s fingers from his neck and pulled away, looking at the captain sadly as they parted.  
“What are you doing?” John looked at Sherlock pleadingly.  
“You don’t want to do that,” much to his embarrassment, Sherlock felt tears beginning to burn in his eyes, “You deserve someone better than me. I’d never be able to make you happy. Besides, I’m a pirate. The British government would crucify you if they found out.”  
“Fuck the British government,” John’s voice had lost its mumbly quality, “And if you think for one minute I don’t want to kiss the man who I took a bullet for, then you are not as intelligent as your reputation suggests. I don’t care about all that, I care about you.”  
Sherlock blinked. This couldn’t be real, it was some torturous dream brought on by stress. But when he looked up John was still there, staring at Sherlock earnestly. The bandages were still there, and John’s hand beneath his was oh-so-deliciously real.  
“Alright then,” Sherlock’s voice was soft. He leaned over and kissed John on the forehead, a gesture that was completely foreign to him, but felt like something a normal person would do. “But right now, you need rest. Lets get you on the bed without opening your stitches.”  
It was a painful process, even though the bed was only a few feet away. Eventually, Sherlock settled John down with his head on a pillow, and a blanket covering him from the waist down. Sherlock called for the first mate, who went to the kitchens to bring back some food and water. When he returned, Sherlock slowly fed John the bread and soup, which John ate hungrily. Every few minutes Sherlock would find something else to fuss over, whether it was John’s bandage, or the possibility of fever, or any other of the numerous ideas that flew through his mind. John loved every minute, watching this gorgeous man wait on him hand and foot. Soon though, the pain began to edge in on his enjoyment.  
“Sherlock,” Sherlock immediately snapped to attention, “if you wouldn’t mind, could you grab the medicinal kit in the top drawer? I believe there is something in there that will help me sleep.”  
“Of course,” Sherlock bounded over to the chest of drawers in two long steps and returned with the supplies. “These would have been nice to have when I was stitching you up,” he griped as he rummaged through, looking for the sleeping pills.  
“You did just fine,” John said, patting him reassuringly on the arm. It was still astonishing that he was allowed to touch this incredibly beautiful man.  
“Here you are,” Sherlock handed John two of the small white pills and helped him with the cup of water. “Get some rest. I’ll be right here if you need me.”  
“You should sleep too,” John protested, “you were up all night keeping me alive, you deserve some sleep.”  
“I’ll be fine on the floor,” Sherlock chuckled, “trust me, I’ve slept in far less desirable places. And I must make sure my savior doesn’t die on me.”  
“Savior. I like that,” John said with a sleepy grin, the medicine was beginning to take effect.  
“Don’t go getting a big head,” Sherlock admonished, “I’m usually not this nice, but since you were willing to die for me I’ll make an exception.”  
John smiled again. Sherlock leaned over and delicately kissed him on the lips.  
“Sleep well, captain,” Sherlock murmured, but John was already drifting off into a dreamless slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be smut next chapter (its going to be a long on), I promise! Gotta let John heal first...


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally they get around to some smut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not edited or britpicked, and sorry I took so long to update. Any feedback is much appreciated!

You’re lucky, you heal quickly,” Sherlock was changing the bandages on John’s shoulder. A week had passed, in which John had been forced into bed rest by Sherlock.  
“Sherlock, I know, quit hovering,” John rolled his eyes. He and Sherlock had grown close, with Sherlock’s constant attention it was unavoidable. But at this point John was tired of sitting around. The first few days of being waited on hand and foot had been lovely, there had been reading, stories of adventures swapped and lots of kisses.  
Sherlock rewrapped John’s shoulder with clean linens and eased his arm back into the sling.  
“You’re going to need that sling for at least three months,” he stated with finality.  
“I know, you bloody idiot, which one of us has actual medical training?” John said teasingly. Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I’m going mental, sitting around doing nothing. At least let me out on deck for a walk.”  
“Not going to happen,” Sherlock shook his head, forcing John to sit on the bed, “You need lots of rest. Besides, is it really that terrible in here with me?”  
“You are the only good thing to come out of this whole mess,” John said, wincing as he pulled Sherlock down next to him. John pressed their foreheads together and Sherlock smiled.  
“I would hope so,” he murmured, “seeing as I was the cause.”  
John laughed and kissed him. It had been a week, a week full of kisses, but the sensation never failed to overwhelm Sherlock. The feeling of John moving against him, his one good hand pulling at the small of Sherlock’s back. John’s stubble rubbing against his cheeks. Sherlock let out a moan, causing John to growl into his mouth and tighten his grip on Sherlock’s back.  
“Be careful, your stitches,” Sherlock gasped between kisses, but John seemed not to care. His hand travelled up now, coiling itself in Sherlock’s curls, pulling Sherlock close, impossibly close.  
“Fuck my stitches,” John mumbled into Sherlock’s mouth. “I want you. I want you right now, I don’t care if I bleed out afterwards. Please, Sherlock.”  
A week ago those words would have sent Sherlock running to the hills. Now, they sent shivers down his spine and a pressing warmth into his groin. He knew they shouldn’t, John was still healing, and bloody hell, he’d known the man for a week, but his body was moving of his own accord, grinding against John’s knee.  
“Lie down,” Sherlock gained control of himself and stood up. John gave him a pitiful look and groaned. “If we are going to do this, we are going to do it right. And that means no tearing your stitches or putting and kind of pressure whatsoever on your shoulder. So lie down.”  
John looked more hopeful as he eased himself down with his good arm. Sherlock was across the small room, pulling something out of a drawer. He crossed back to John and put a small container of olive oil on the floor beside the bed.  
“I was saving that for something special,” John muttered halfheartedly and Sherlock laughed.  
“And this isn’t special enough for you?” he asked, straddling John’s hips and pulling his shirt off.  
“God, Sherlock, you are glorious,” John could do nothing but stare. Aside from a few scars, Sherlock’s torso was completely perfect. Lean but not skinny, with creamy skin that begged John to kiss it. He made a move to sit up, but Sherlock placed a hand gently but firmly on his good shoulder, keeping him down on the bed.  
“No, doctor,” he gave a half smile and sent lightening rods into John’s cock. His voice was sinfully seductive. “Not tonight at least.”  
John groaned and bucked his hips, grinding against Sherlock’s own. Sherlock’s eyes went wide and he gasped. John grinned. Sherlock might act tough now, but soon he would be completely undone.  
Sherlock began slowly moving back and forth, rubbing them together through the thin cotton of their trousers. John clenched his good fist into the bed clothes, trying not to move with Sherlock. His eyes were closed, head thrown back when he felt Sherlock move.  
“Sherlock?” His eyes flew open. “Where are you- oh,”  
The final word came out as a whisper as he felt Sherlock’s fingers pulling at the laces of his britches. It was all John could do not to jump up and fuck him seven ways to Sunday, not that he could if he wanted to. Sherlock held John’s cock in his head, fascinated by it. It was very different than his own, a bit shorter but much broader, which made sense. He catalogued that for further research. Sherlock lowered his head and experimentally licked he head of John’s cock. John shouted and his hips jumped.  
“I won’t last long, love,” John’s voice was heavy with lust, and it caused Sherlock to feel achingly hard. He dipped his head again and felt John’s hips jump and twitch under his long fingers as he slowly took him into his mouth. It only last a few seconds before Sherlock was up again, with a frustrated growl from John. He lifted his head to see Sherlock fumbling with the laces of his own britches, tugging them down to the floor.   
“You are stunningly gorgeous,” all John could do was stare at Sherlock’s nakedness. Sherlock blushed and stared at the floor. A week ago, he would have replied with some snarky deduction, or even outright denied it, but John had made a point to call Sherlock beautiful (or any variation he could think of) as often as possible.  
John was still completely clothed, albeit a little indecent. Sherlock climbed back onto his lap, the rough fabric pulling against the sensitive skin of his inner thighs. He held the little bottle of olive oil in his hand.  
“I’m not really sure how to-” he looked excruciatingly embarrassed. “I’ve never really, well, you know.”  
“Relax, love,” John said. His smile was full of love and hope and something Sherlock couldn’t label. “I’ll show you what to do. And if you feel uncomfortable or want to stop, tell me. Understand?”  
Sherlock nodded and leaned down to kiss John on the lips. John reached down with his good hand, brushing his fingertips down Sherlock’s spine and squeezing Sherlock’s plush arse. Sherlock let out a little whimper and John grinned.   
“I’m going to need a bit of help, I’m afraid,” John said, and Sherlock seemed so snap out of a trance. He took John’s hand and emptied a liberal amount of oil onto his fingers, rubbing up and down until they were coated. “Remember, tell me if you want to stop, alright?”  
“Yes I know, get on with it,” Sherlock was achingly hard, and John’s voice was only making it worse. John traced his finger down, until it was resting against Sherlock’s hole. Slowly, torturously slowly, he push into Sherlock, and the pirate screamed.  
“Shhh, love, we don’t want everyone to know,” John smirked as Sherlock panted, “Are you alright?”  
“John, hurry,” Sherlock voice was so heavy and his eyes so piercing that it almost sent him over the edge. He pumped his fingers in and out, adding two, then three, waiting until Sherlock was moving with his arm and moaning with pleasure.  
“Are you ready?” John watched a twist of anticipation dance across Sherlock’s brow as he nodded. “Sit up, love. It’ll feel better. And don’t move until you’re comfortable.”  
Sherlock nodded again and straighten, then without warning, slide John inside of him. Neither one could keep quiet now. Sherlock let out high pitched whimpers as he slowly began to move his hips, and John let out steady choruses of “God you’re beautiful, yes like that love you’re doing so well”. It didn’t take long for John to feel a tightening in his stomach, but no he didn’t want it to end. This couldn’t be it. He wanted it to last for an eternity.  
“Sherlock, I’m going to come, I can’t help it, I love you,” Sherlock’s eyes jumped to John’s, and they were coming together, moaning each other’s names, and suddenly it was over. Sherlock slid down to lie on John’s good side, his arm draped across John’s still-clothed abdomen.  
“I love you,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, giving John a surprisingly chaste kiss on the cheek, before wriggling closer and falling asleep.


End file.
